


Close Encounters of the Third Kind

by dandelion_san



Series: So an Alien and an Assassin Walk Into a Bar... [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe, Assassins & Hitmen, Friendship, Humor, Implied Murder, M/M, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 18:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11236716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelion_san/pseuds/dandelion_san
Summary: Yuuri is burying a body in the woods when an alien crash lands into him.





	Close Encounters of the Third Kind

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr link](http://dandelion-san.tumblr.com/post/161943918407/close-encounters-of-the-third-kind)

 

Yuuri is just taking a break from dragging the two hundred pound corpse from his car to the woods when the world suddenly turns bright and a high-pitched ringing sound makes itself known. He covers his ears by reflex and quickly squeezes his eyes shut, taken so off-guard that he is half-delirious in both pain and panic.

But as soon as it came, the ringing stops and the light seems to fade away from behind his closed eyelids.

Before he can tentatively open them, something heavy crashes into his body and sends him to the ground.

“OW,” says a young voice.

Yuuri’s eyes snaps open. He blinks rapidly at first, clearing away blurriness and the black spots appearing in his vison, but the first thing he sees is the starry sky.

…Actually no.

The first thing he sees is smoke and fumes coming out of a very large saucer-shaped ship that is currently crashed into some trees just up ahead. That – that is – something with a size of that magnitude – how could he have missed – what?

No, seriously. What?

Very slowly, he turns his head.

There is a boy who looks just a little younger than Yuuri himself (NOT AN ALIEN, his brain says in Denial) lying next to him, eyes closed, curled up in fetal position and rubbing a bump on his head. His hair is in a funny bowl-cut that is currently sticking out with leaves and sticks and there’s dirt on his face. There are two antennas sticking out from his hair that is curling and uncurling (NOPE, his brain continues to say). Obviously a physical deformation, of course. _Obviously_.

Yuuri swallows thickly.

The boy opens his eyes finally, dark brown mirroring Yuuri’s own. The boy blinks, a reflection of his previous actions.

The boy grins sheepishly. “WHAT’S UP, DUDE,” he says. “I COME IN PEACE. THERE IS NO NEED TO TAKE ME TO YOUR LEADER.” He sticks his hand out in an oddly familiar gesture, palms flat with his ring and pinky sticking together and out from the others to make a ‘V’.

Yuuri, eyes wide, asks, “Can you, _please_ , not shout?”

“SORRY,” the boy says. Then, “ _sorry_. Is this better?” He gains a look of satisfaction at Yuuri’s whimper and then starts stretching his limbs out. “Wow, this is great! What a lucky night it is for me!” He laughs loudly and then rolls over to his other side, startling when he nudges the target’s body. “Hm, and what about you? Sorry about the landing, dude. Didn’t mean to land on top of you two. My name’s Phichit, by the way.”

Yuuri stares at the sky, refusing to look at the giant, smoking ship, or the Not-Alien talking to the corpse of his last target.

“Not a talkative one, are ya?” Then the boy pauses.

It is a long pause.

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh my dear stars, _I killed an Earthling_!”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri has never had a conversation on this end before so he’s quite a bit out of his depth. But he’s trying his best, repeating what Mari used to do for him during his crying-sessions, and he’s not doing too badly if he does say so himself.

“Come on now, just breathe,” he says in a croon, rubbing the Not-Alien’s back. They are currently sitting upright together while the boy has his knees up and currently sobbing into them. He is so distraught that everything about him looks like it’s drooping, like his antennas which are hanging low over his ears like a sad puppy. “Yup, there you go. Just let it all out. You’re doing so well, buddy.” The tears are glowing a bright blue. Yuuri refuses to acknowledge this.

Phichit says, hysterically, “I’m so – _sooo_ sorry, I didn’t mean to k-k-kill your frii _eeeend_.” He can barely even get the sentence out and wails out the last word.

“No, no, no you didn’t!” Yuuri is quick to reassure him. “See, he was already dead. And he wasn’t my friend,” he adds.

The tears are actually starting to stain his shirt. Not that it is glowing, or anything.

Yuuri gently tilts Phichit’s head up with one hand. “It wasn’t your fault, I promise. Okay?” He gently pats his head with his other. “There you go. Shh, _shhhh_.” Thankfully, Phichit is visibly calming.

He peers up at him with watery eyes. There are two rings in his irises. “R-really?” He hiccups.

“Oh yeah,” says Yuuri. “He was definitely already deader than dead.” He smiles a little, fondly reminiscing his little adventure from that afternoon. It was such a challenge trying to get into the target’s office. The mercenaries were a bit of an obstacle, of course, but nothing that he couldn’t handle. 

Phichit is staring at him in wide horrified realization. “Oh _kriff_.” He scrambles away, pointing a finger at him and shrieking, antennas standing straight up. “You! You killed him!”

Yuuri puts his hands up and slowly stands. He sweats. “Come on, buddy, uh – Phichit –“

“Back off!” Phichit hits the trunk of a tree. “They warned me about this! Earthlings are crazy, war-mongering people! I mean, what kind of species chooses to live on a Class F-designated planet that you people named after DIRT.”

Yuuri sighs. “Oh boy.”

He hopes he doesn’t have to kill this one.

 

* * *

 

“Twoooooo _ooo_ Piña Coladas, please. One tab!”

The bartender, to his credit, just widens his eyes at both of their appearances – Yuuri, who is wearing a muddy and blood stained trench-coat over a skin-tight black jumpsuit with leaves and dirt in his hair, and Phichit who is Phichit. They both reek of alcohol.

(He mostly just widens his eyes at Yuuri. His breath catches in his throat. BA-THUMP, screams his heart, while his mind screams _ohmygodit’shimwhatishedoingherehe’sadorableaseverIhopethat’snothisboyfriend_.)

“Dun listen to ‘im, he’s a murderer,” Phichit slurs. His eyes reflect oddly in the dim lighting of the bar, like a cat’s. His antennas are wriggling.

“Imma good murderer,” Yuuri grumbles. He shoves a hand over Phichit’s mouth. “Shh, listen. Listen! Imma good guy and the dead man was not a nice man which is why he’s dead!” He shoves his other hand over Phichit’s head. “Stop movin’!”

“I canna help it!” wails Phichit. “I canna control ‘em!”

Yuuri giggles, letting go of Phichit to cover his face. The bartender, whose nametag reads VICTOR, shoves two cups at both of them.

“Here are your Piña Coladas,” he tells Yuuri. Yuuri wonders why his voice sounds so deep and why the bartender is smiling at him like this. He squints at him.

“Ya look kinda… familiar…”

The bartender gives a sparkly grin, and pulls at his tie. “D-do I?” He looks pleased.

They both get cut off from this line of conversation as Phichit spits his drink out. “GROSS,” he howls. He tears up, his eyes gaining a wet blue shine. “What’s happenin’ ta me? What didja do ta me? Who are ya? Who am _I_?”

Yuuri is not listening. He quickly downs his drink, wiping off his lips with the back of his hand when he’s done.

He strips off his gloves. Then his coat. Then he turns to the bartender and gives him a saucy wink.

“Wanna see my guns?” he purrs. “ _Victor_.”

The bartender looks around wildly, but most of his customers are not paying attention to them as they are too busy wallowing in their own lives. There are a couple drunken people who are staring at them, but they are mostly staring at Phichit. “Um,” he says. His face is so pink that it looks like it’s glowing. He turns back to Yuuri and swallows thickly.

Yuuri licks his lips and stands up. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly raises his leg up and places it on the counter. He reaches down to the holster that is wrapped around his thighs.

“Oh,” the bartender says weakly. “You mean guns, literally.” He’s staring at Yuuri’s legs now, visibly sweating. (He misses the fact that there is something very obviously illegal going on his bar and instead feels a hint of disappointment.)

“Mmmhmm.” Yuuri pulls out a black handgun. “Beretta 90Two,” he says dreamily. He sets it down on the counter. Then he puts his leg down and starts to strip out of his jumpsuit.

 

* * *

 

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Yuuri whispers the next day, after vomiting three times in the toilet. Phichit is snoring somewhere on his bedroom floor, covered in glitter and lipstick stains. Yuuri stares at him for a while and then sighs.

Okay, yeah. So aliens are real and now there’s one in his apartment. Whatever, what’s an alien compared to the time he slipped into Guantanamo Bay for a mission? Or the time he was caught in a power struggle between two mafia groups and Interpol? Or even the time he was kidnapped by a megalomaniac and had to pole-dance his way out? Now _that_ was wild.

Besides, there are more pressing matters to attend to. So Yuuri cleans himself up as best as he can. He throws on some clean clothes and takes off his contacts, which feel like they have been crusted to his eyes. After grabbing his glasses, he walks outside and across the hallway and contemplates death.

He knocks instead.

A dog barks somewhere on the other side and then someone curses – there’s a crashing noise. A few minutes tick by with Yuuri growing ever more concerned, when the door finally opens, revealing his neighbor whose eyes are bloodshot and hair in a wild disarray. He’s still wearing his bartending uniform, only now it’s stained in various places.

“Hey Victor,” Yuuri says. “I am so sorry about what happened last night.”

Victor shuts the door in his face.

Yuuri stands there, stunned, as he hears what sounds like muffled screaming, but then the door opens again.

Victor leans against the frame, casually. “Don’t worry about it,” he says with a mega-watt smile. “It was fun!”

Yuuri doesn’t really know what to say. He still kinda wants to go die in some ditch after humiliating himself in front of his attractive neighbor last night, but also because he may have outed himself and he really really _really_ does not want to kill Victor, who is constantly running out of flour, sugar, or other miscellaneous baking/cooking ingredients. Yuuri has yet to taste a single non-alcoholic creation of Victor’s and Victor _owes_ him after two years of begging off some sort of ingredient from him.

(Yuuri does not think about other reasons he may not want to kill Victor)

“Do you want to come over for breakfast?” he says instead and then blushes.

Victor brightens. “Yes!” he shouts and then coughs. “I mean, yes.”

 

* * *

 

Phichit – whose skin is now green, like actually green – runs into the kitchen where Yuuri has just finished making oatmeal and eggs.

“Everything hurts,” he warbles.

Yuuri sighs and shoves a glass of water at him. “Drink. Drink it all. Then go lie down.”

“Ugh.” He wobbles to the couch and collapses, sobbing of “war-mongering dirt people.” His antennas sway back and forth soothingly.

Victor, eyes wide, starts to yell.

 

* * *

 

Well, if Victor has finally noticed that there is something just a little different about Phichit, then Yuuri figures he’s probably safe for now.

 

 


End file.
